


Communication Is Like Sex

by soliloquize



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, a fic about Learning and Growth and Communication in a relationship, but they love each other! and they are trying!, dex and nurseys problems are more than just ust, ft disney because its holster and nursey, plus quality nursey/holster bonding, tw for anxiety/panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9374639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquize/pseuds/soliloquize
Summary: "Dex was not an effusive person, and Nursey wanted to respect his reserved boundaries, didn’t want to pressure him into saying or acting on anything he didn’t actually feel.  Nursey kept things chill.  If he wished Dex would let him know what he was thinking a little more, well, relationships were about compromise, right?  Obviously Dex was into him, right?  He didn’t need to trust Nursey with every single secret emotion.  Even though it did hurt, a little, when Nursey was faced with the same pissy, exasperated mask everyone else got, if only because he’d gotten the chance to glimpse under it and knew what he was missing."Alternately titled: Silly Repressive Boys Love Each Other and Figure Shit Out.





	

_Fuck_ James Joyce.  No, seriously, _fuck_ him.  Nursey restrained himself with difficulty from throwing his copy of _Ulysses_ across the room, but it wasn’t the book’s fault Nursey had no patience for some pretentious whiny white dude’s crisis over the morality of sex.  The modernists had a sweet style, but they were a bunch of elitist dickbags, and wow, Nursey really had to get out of his room.

He pulled on his grey peacoat, grinned like an idiot when he remembered how Dex had grabbed him by the lapels to kiss him last time he wore it, and headed outside to blow off some steam.  His phone told him it was almost 6:30, so at least he could feel good about how long he suffered through Joyce before giving up.  

It took half a lap around the pond for him to notice how hungry he was, and another quarter to remember he had plans with Dex.  They had a standing dinner date on Wednesdays because they could sometimes do a half-decent impression of a mature couple with their shit together.  He pulled out his phone.

  


**Poindexter**

                                       we on for dinner?

 

You used

punctuation in a

text.  Proud of you.

 

And yeah, just have

to call my family

first.

 

Come over in 20.

  


Nursey blew out his breath in a long stream and watched it fog, soft against the crisp evening air, mildly envious that Dex had family in the same time zone that he could call like a normal person.  Last time Nursey had a chance to talk to Nadia, he had Skyped her at three in the morning to account for both the time difference between Samwell and Uganda and her crazy med student/clinic volunteer schedule, and he wasn’t even sure what continent their moms were on.  He thought Amma had possibly been in Ukraine when she called for his birthday last month, and she’d passed on love from his biological mom, so they must have been together recently.  Nursey felt vaguely like a detective trying to track down suspects for a cold case, and hey, a riff on the _I work alone_ hardboiled detective persona would be a cool premise for a narrative poem about isolation.  He jotted it down in the notes app on his phone before shoving his hands back in his pockets.

Supposedly it was spring, but the wind was fucking cold, and Nursey was fucking cold, and he didn’t want to barge in on Dex talking to his family, so he was forced to stay outside and walk another lap around the pond.  At least the geese weren’t back yet.

Nursey amused himself with idle comparisons of Dex to an angry goose, a refreshing change from the mushy crap that usually spilled out when he tried to be poetic about Dex.

The point of poetry was expression, to say and feel the things that had no other stage where they could be said or felt.  Nursey’s poems rambled nervously to the beat of a jittering leg, they were hard and angry, they were insolent or untraditional (“Inversion of a Sonnet” is still his favorite thing he’s ever written, a rant about heteronormativity that purposely fucks with traditional rhyme scheme), they were an outlet.  And when it came to Dex, there was a lot of shit to let out, and most of it was so sappy, Nursey had almost fined himself once or twice just for thinking it.

But he didn’t say it.  Dex was not an effusive person, and Nursey wanted to respect his reserved boundaries, didn’t want to pressure him into saying or acting on anything he didn’t actually feel.  Nursey kept things chill.  If he wished Dex would let him know what he was thinking a little more, well, relationships were about compromise, right?  Obviously Dex was into him, right?  He didn’t need to trust Nursey with every single secret emotion.  Even though it did hurt, a little, when Nursey was faced with the same pissy, exasperated mask everyone else got, if only because he’d gotten the chance to glimpse under it and knew what he was missing.

  


The first thing Nursey did when he got to Dex’s room was bury his face in Dex’s neck under the pretense of hugging hello.

“Fuck you, Nurse.”

“Buy me dinner first.”  Nursey batted his eyes and leaned in for a quick peck.  Dex was stiff, and Nursey couldn’t help frowning a little as he pulled away.  “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Nursey, I said it’s fine, back off.”

Nursey physically stepped back.  “Okay, sorry man.  Ch--”

“Don’t tell me to chill I swear to fucking god--”

“I’m sorry for caring about your emotional wellbeing?” Nursey heard the passive-aggressiveness seeping in, but Dex’s face was going red, and Nursey wasn’t going to just lie down and let him throw a fit.  Nursey was not in the wrong here.

“Fuck you, don’t condescend to me--”

“I’m _not_ if you would just listen--”

“I don’t need this right now, Nursey, I don’t need you to--”

Dex whirled around and hauled his arm back like he was about to punch the door frame, but instead he brought his fist to the wall and brushed his knuckles down achingly slow, breathing hard.  Nursey was aware of it like it was happening on the other side of a fogged glass, and fuck, this was the worst.  Nursey was breathing hard too, _I don’t need you_ ringing in his head.

“Look Dex, listen, I’m not telling you to ‘chill’ for the hell of it,” he said after collecting himself a little, still very impressed that his voice was steady.  “No, shut the fuck up and listen to me.  I can’t do this shit, okay?  I’m sure in Maine talking about feelings is for girls, and you’re a big manly man with a stick up his ass, but I can’t deal with this emotionally unavailable _shitstorm_ of ambiguity.   _Fuck_.”  

Nursey ran both hands through his hair, tugging just enough to keep himself present.  Dex said nothing, still facing the wall, one hand curled slightly at his side.  It freaked Nursey out a little, not being able to see Dex’s face, to be even more in the dark as to what his boyfriend was thinking, but it was also a little easier.  This particular rant had been tumbling around in his head for months, not constantly, only playing during the bruise-dark twilight of insomnia, creeping into his writing, finding voice when he was alone in the shower and the details of their most recent fight were crashing around in his head.  He wasn’t used to having an audience for his anger.

“I’m not talking to you because it’s not your problem.  I can deal with it myself,” Dex said, and for all Nursey’s frustration about not knowing what Dex was thinking or feeling, he had learned how to read him.  It wasn’t hard to hear the anger simmering in his voice, ready to explode again from gritted teeth and tensed shoulders.

“I’m not saying you _can’t_.”

“Jesus Christ, Nurse, are you that fucking clingy?  You need to know every little thing about my life even when it’s _none of your business_?”

Nursey had a response for that, he knew he did, a logical and succinct point about wanting to be a supportive boyfriend, but the control he’d been clinging to by his fingernails flew right out the window and left him gasping for air.  Dex thought he was clingy, Dex hated him, of course he did, Nursey should have seen this coming, he was fucking clingy because _everyone always left him_.

Normally, it was Dex who would storm off in the middle of fights, leaving Nursey alone and frustrated and frightened that he’d done something terribly wrong and that Dex was never coming back, even though he knew rationally that Dex would come back as soon as he cooled off and this was just his way of diffusing the situation.  

Well, Nursey could appreciate dysfunctional coping mechanisms as much as the next person, and right now blatant avoidance was looking great.  He strode past Dex out the door.  He might have stumbled a little, but he wasn’t sure and the edges of his vision were starting to fuzz out which was always a _fucking awesome_ sign and gosh, he had just been thinking that what he really needed today was to have a fucking panic attack.

 _Okay, breathe_ , he told himself, somewhat in vain.  He was outside now.  There was a tree.  Trees were good.  Nursey collapsed against it, rubbing his open palm against the rough bark, concentrating just on the sensation.  The bark scraped unevenly over his hand, catching on calluses and occasionally stabbing at the fleshy middle.  It had been raining earlier, and the bark was still damp; small pieces were coming off on his hand and flaking off all over his jeans.  It was all real and tangible and slowly the panic ebbed out of him and back into the ether-- or whatever hell it actually came from.  Nursey took a deep breath, consciously noticing the expansion of his rib cage, the rise of his diaphragm, the tickle of cool air rushing through his nostrils.

Carefully, he let himself think about the fight.  Fuck.  Something had clearly been bothering Dex, and Nursey had yelled at him instead of doing anything constructive or supportive, and then _Nursey_ had gone and had a panic attack and now he had made himself into the victim _again_ and--

“Yo, Nursey, you good bro?”

Nursey looked up, registered for the first time that he was on the Haus lawn, and waved a little belatedly to Holster.  “More or less.”

“I noticed you getting handsy with the tree.  Is that some weird poet shit or...”

“Um,” Nursey huffed.  “Just trying to get myself to chill.”

Holster trotted over and placed an absurdly large hand on Nursey’s shoulder.

“Something you want to talk about?  I could also be persuaded to marathon Disney and eat a stupid amount of pizza.”  Nursey realized he’d never actually gotten dinner, and panic attacks always left him feeling like he’d just played a full game with no subs.

“Dude, the only amount of pizza that’s stupid is no pizza.”  

Holster grinned and fist bumped him.  “I’ll order the pizza.  You grab us some beer and get ready for a good, old fashioned heart to heart.”

With a mostly full six pack from the basement fridge in hand, Nursey trudged up three flights of stairs to the attic, seriously wondering if getting Ransom and Holster’s dibs would be worth having to make this trek every day.  He knew Dex would chirp him for being _an in-season varsity athlete afraid of a few flights of stairs / shut up, Dex, I get up at an unholy hour to exercise every day I don’t need to work out in my own home_.

Nursey’s chest hurt.  He pulled out his phone

 

**Poindexter**

Are you okay?

 

I’m sorry.

 

Can we talk?

 

 _Have some motherfucking chill_ , Nursey snapped at his own brain.   _He doesn’t want to break up with you.  Probably.  He just wants to finish the conversation that turned into the worst argument we’ve had since we started dating._

_Fuck._

 

Holster appeared with Dominos, and Nursey’s hands were only shaking a little as he put down his phone to take a slice.

“I’m drowning my sorrows in cheese and beer and I have zero regrets,” Holster said with a remarkably sexual moan.

“Finance midterm?”

“Don’t even ask bro.”

Nursey snorted.  It wasn’t that humanities classes weren’t stressful or challenging-- writing three different ten page papers in a week and a half was never going to be a _fun_ experience, and inspiration didn’t exactly work on a deadline even though his poetry grades very much did-- but he never had to cram or memorize a bunch of useless information for a test.

“So,” Holster continued around his second slice of pizza.  “Spill, man.  Why’re you out on our lawn petting a tree?”

Nursey only choked a little bit.  “That was… a coping thing.  Um, for my anxiety.  Sometimes if I like, focus on a specific sensation I can keep myself from spiraling.”

“Cool.”  Holster pushed his glasses up his nose.  “So I know Rans likes to be distracted from whatever’s bothering him, unless it’s something he needs to study for.  But if you need a vent sesh or something, we can do that too.”

And okay, dam metaphors about emotions were totally cliche, but after being battered for weeks by waves of frustration and anxiety and doubt, the only comparisons Nursey could think to make were barriers crashing down, floodgates being opened, and everything flowing and tumbling over itself to get out.

“--And then he accused me of being clingy, and I was already super keyed up because talking about shit is scary and I just kind of lost it and ran away.”  Nursey took one look at the careful non-reaction on Holster’s face and barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.  “I really did not handle it well, I know.”

“S’okay, dude.  Talking about shit is scary.  And you’re not responsible for how your brain fucks with you, y’know?”

“I know it in theory anyway.”

“Have you talked with Dex since you left?”

A single white-hot bolt of panic lanced through his chest before he got a chance to push it down.  He’d never replied to Dex’s messages, and if Dex didn’t hate him before, he probably did now.

 _Your catastophizing_ , he told himself as he pulled out his phone.   _Stop it._

**Poindexter**

 

Can we talk?

 

                                         sorry for just running off i

                                         know that was unfair i just

                                         got overwhelmed but im

                                         okay

 

                                         we need to talk im sorry

                                         but could we do it

                                         tomorrow before class

 

“He texted me to check in,” Nursey explained when Holster raised his eyebrows.  “I just apologized and told him everything’s fine, and asked if we could continue the conversation tomorrow.  Because it went so well the first time.”

“You could do that write a letter thing people do when they’re worried about getting flustered or off topic.”

“I get too wrapped up in my own head when I write about shit.  It’s more cathartic than constructive.” Nursey waved dismissively and his phone buzzed, still in his hand.

 

**Poindexter**

 

Yeah, fine.

 

  
“Fuck, he just ended this text with a period.”  Nursey flopped down on Holster’s bed, sort-of-but-not-really on top of Holster.

“Dude, it’s Dex,” Holster grinned.  “Nerd probably never switched off auto-caps and shit.”

Nursey groaned rather than bother to validate his current emotions by putting them into words.

“Freaking out’s not going to help you now, bro.  Which, I know, easier said than done.  But you have your space.  You have your time to think.  And you’ve both agreed to talk about it.  Communication’s not going to make anything worse.”

“It is if he says hewantstobreakup,” Nursey mumbled without looking at Holster.  He glanced up a moment later, a little surprised Holster hadn’t put him in a headlock for saying something so dumb.  Instead, Holster squeezed his shoulder.

“If he really says that, then you’re better off knowing than staying trapped in a relationship that’s not fulfilling for either of you.  But I will also bet you my share of every pie Bitty makes for the rest of our lives that Dex does not want to break up with you.”

“Thanks man.”

“Literally anytime, bro.  Now are we starting with _Tangled_ or _Princess and the Frog_?”

Nursey hummed a few bars of “When We’re Human” and Holster clutched his chest.

“Dude.  You _are_ Prince Naveen. How did I not notice this before?”

“Because there are so many other black Disney princes to choose from?”

“Derek Nurse, throwing shade.”

“It’s not shade if it’s true.”

“Dayum,” Holster whistled through his teeth loud enough to make Nursey wince.

“Hollywood’s incurable obsession with white people aside, you do realize this makes you the delusional firefly?”

“I would be the jazzy alligator and you know it!”

Nursey belly-laughed almost in spite of himself, but the comparison made him feel weirdly hopeful.  The princes in fairy tales always got to live happily ever after with their true loves.  He could pull through this.  They would be alright.

  


Nursey brought Annie’s to Dex’s room the next morning as a peace offering and only slightly calculated tactical move.  The only person more prickly than regular Dex was uncaffeinated Dex.

“Thanks,” Dex said when he opened the door.  His hair was soft and messy from sleep, and his T-shirt was worn and faded and maybe a little too small, and all Nursey wanted was to put his mouth all over Dex and never stop.  It would solve a lot of problems, actually, because then they would have an excuse to avoid talking.  Dex took his coffee and sat on the bed.  After a beat, Nursey took his normal spot beside him, but it felt off and Nursey hated it, like a fleecy blanket that goes through the wash and comes out a little matted and scratchy.  It wasn’t unbearable, except that he could remember how soft the blanket had been.  And now the blanket was refusing to make eye contact with him.

The blanket was Dex.  Dex was the blanket.

“So we’re talking?”

“We are talking.”  Nursey swallowed and took the plunge.  “Look, I’m sorry for how last night went.  I knew you were upset, and I just kept pushing, and then we were both a mess, and I’m sorry.”

“We’re always a mess,” Dex grumbled, but he wasn’t frowning and his eyebrows weren’t scrunched together.

“Hey, sometimes we manage to play pretty good hockey.”  A smile.  Rainclouds parting.  The weight lifted off Nursey’s chest for the space of a breath.  “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather avoid a repeat of last night.”

“Me too.” Dex’s sarcasm withered all the little sprouts of hope that had dared to bloom twenty seconds earlier, and Nursey was reminded that Dex had been upset by something before their argument even started.  Nursey folded up the guilt and shoved it into a box in the back of his mind to deal with later; it was not constructive to the situation at hand.

“Look, I’m not… I’m not saying I always handle stuff great, okay?  I know I suppress everything and joke about shit instead of actually addressing it, so this isn’t me preaching at you or whatever.”  Nursey sighed.  He was better at being open than Dex, but it was never fun talking about his anxiety.  It always felt like giving people an invitation to tell him he was too dramatic, especially because it wasn’t like he had some tragic backstory to go along with it; he just had chemical imbalances and parents that hadn’t been home a lot when he was younger.  “It’s just-- under all my ‘chill’, I’m an anxious mess with abandonment issues.  And it’s really, really hard for me to see you upset and have you go off on your own or refuse to tell me what’s wrong because my first thought is always that you’re leaving and I’m the problem.”

“That’s never--”

“I’m not saying it’s rational, man!  At the very least, I know you aren’t shy about telling me if you have an issue with me.  But my brain’s a little fucked up and emotions are irrational.”

Dex was quiet next to Nursey for a long time, but he took Nursey’s hand and rubbed soft circles into the back of it with his thumb, silent reassurance.

“I’m sorry that I make you anxious,” Dex finally broke the silence.  Nursey knew that his voice was objectively quiet, but it sounded intrusive after nothing but the two of them breathing more-or-less in synch.  “Not that it makes it any better, but I didn’t realize that’s how you were taking everything.  I’m not-- I just--ugh.” he sighed.  “I’m not good with words?  Like I have to sit and think to actually say what I mean, and half the time it still doesn’t come out right.  And when I’m upset, it’s worse, and then I wind up even more frustrated and angry, and it’s best for everyone if I can go off on my own to work shit out before everything gets out of hand.”

“I can respect that, dude.  I’m not trying to shame you for being emotionally illiterate or whatever.  I’m just telling you that it is _not_ best for me to have you isolate yourself without telling me why.”

“But like half the time I’m overreacting anyway!  I’m not trying to shut you out, I’m trying to keep myself from doing something stupid that I’ll regret.”

“ _Then tell me that!_ ”  Nursey realized he was shouting, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and squeezed Dex’s hand so he would know that Nursey didn’t want to let go.  “Look man, literally just tell me that.  Say ‘I’m working through something that’s not a big deal, and it’s nothing to do with you, I just need to be alone for a little bit so I can calm down.’”

Dex opened his mouth, and Nursey braced himself for the snap.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I can do that.  I will do that.  Thank you for telling me what you need.”  He was blushing, but Nursey bit back the automatic chirp.   “And, um, thanks.  For, like, letting me have time to think about what I was trying to say.”

“Anytime, seriously.”  Nursey lifted their clasped hands over his head so Dex’s arm was around him and Nursey could snuggle into his side.  “Communication is like sex.  It doesn’t matter if you’re awkward or self-conscious; the important thing is that everyone is one the same page.”

Dex snorted.  “Damn, I think you just discovered Shitty’s soul in metaphor form.”

“It was a _simile_ , Dex.  Similes use ‘like’ or ‘as’.  Seriously, who was your fifth grade teacher?”

Nursey was sure Dex was rolling his eyes, but he was also poking Nursey right in the ticklish spot on his stomach, so Nursey was thrashing around too much to actually see.

“Fuck you, Poindexter,” he said with a mock pout when Dex stopped.  “See if you get any hooray-for-good-communication sex.”

“Is holy-shit-my-boyfriend’s-such-a-good-kisser sex still on the table?” Dex asked, leaning in.

Nursey hummed against his lips, witty retort momentarily lost as Dex started placing little kisses in a line from the corner of his mouth to his jaw.

“You’ll have to, ah, convince me,” Nursey said, deadpan completely ruined by the gasp when Dex gently scraped his teeth down Nursey’s throat.

“You’re not convinced?”  Dex moved his hands down to Nursey’s hips and then his ass, using the hold to lift Nursey onto his lap, and okay, it was always really fucking hot when Dex picked him up because Nursey had at least twenty pounds on him.

“Maybe you should try harder.”

Dex poked his ticklish spot again, and Nursey nearly fell off his lap.

“We were having a moment, you dick!” he said indignantly as Dex cackled and did a very bad job of looking contrite.  It was possible he wasn’t even trying.

“There’ll be another moment,” Dex said, bringing up a hand to cradle Nursey’s jaw.  “You in a rush, Nurse?”

Sometimes Nursey really needed Dex to tell him straight out what he was thinking.  But sometimes, the look in his eyes was enough.  Nursey pushed Dex onto his back and kissed him earnestly.   _I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at work because 1) my job has hella downtime, 2) I am trash, and 3) I wanted nurseydex where their first kiss or them officially getting together doesn't solve all their problems
> 
> This fandom is stealing my soul, but comments would make me feel better about my descent into hell


End file.
